


Nemet Lavellan (I am going to change this when something more creative comes to mind!)

by Melanjolly



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-12-09 14:51:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11671311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanjolly/pseuds/Melanjolly
Summary: Nemet Lavellan was raised to believe that his people, the Dalish, were as good as it was going to get. His clan was kept isolated from the outside world, fueling the gratuitous lies the Dalish believed about themselves. Now, not only has Nemet encountered his first shem, he has been taken as a prisoner and will be tried for the murder of a shem that was not only important to the her people, but detrimental to the end of a long standing, deadly feud.





	1. Shemlens

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello there, neighbor!
> 
> Anyway, I have returned. I am well aware of the fact that my Mass Effect story needs to be finished, worry not, for any of you that have started reading and given up after I ghosted you for two years 

_‘It’s alright, Nemet. You did what you could…’_

_‘I don’t understand, Papa, why would they do this? Shiall didn’t_ do _anything to them!’_

_‘Shh, hush, da’lin. Your sister is with the Creators now. Take note of this, Nemet, shemlens are brutes, smaller giants with no mind for anything above anything self-serving. Take this lesson and hold on to it, if you never learn anything from me after, I will die happily.’_

_‘I will, Papa…’_

_‘We are not alone, Nemet, use my title.’_

_‘I will…Keeper Braron.’_

* * *

 

Nemet was jarred from his dream by an especially loud _clack_ from the guards posted by his door. He struggled to sit upright, the binds on his wrists were dangerously close to interfering with his circulation, and the searing pain in his left hand made gray dots eat at his vision every time he shifted.

The shemlens guards that surrounded him, smirks tugging at the corners of their mouths as they watched him struggle. Dried blood cracked at the corner of his mouth, his head throbbed with every heartbeat, and the vision in his right eye was clouded, all obtained from his guards’ careful ‘cell reassignment’. Nemet openly glared at them in turn, memorizing their faces. The main doors to the building he’d been thrown into earlier flew open, and a fresh draft of icy cold air flowed in with two women crossing the threshold.

The first was of average height, her face adorned with two scars, one that ran the length of one high cheekbone, and the other that danced right above her jawline. Her black hair was cut short, hugging her scalp and framing her forehead at different angles. Nemet supposed her face would be lovely, had it not currently been pinched in anger. A fine rage rode her body, made her armor clank with every step, the crimson eye on her breastplate glaring him down alongside its owner.

The woman behind her had hair so red, it was clearly visible through her cowl, in the dim light. She was the opposite of her companion, an aura of calm radiating about her, her footsteps nearly silent.

The armored shemlen barely waited for his cell doors to open before she stormed inside. The redhead slid in behind her, the guards reluctantly lowered their swords. Nemet fought not to squirm under her venomous gaze. It was difficult, Nemet had learned, to make brown eyes go cold, as it is a warm color, but this shemlen had the technique down firmly.

The woman regarded him for a moment before she drew her sword, nostrils flaring, eyes wide with fury. Nemet followed her pace with his eyes, not bothering to move his abused head as she spoke, “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now.” She spat in his ear, she continued as she resumed circling him. “The Conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead.” She came to a stop in front of him, and leaned forward until their noses were a hairsbreadth apart. The scent of something floral was nearly eclipsed by the overwhelming smell of polish, which would explain why her sword was giving a near perfect reflection of his bruised face. “Except for _you_.”

She stood there, as if she could stay there forever, her anger sustaining her, and Nemet realized she was looking for a response. He licked his cracked lips before responding, “What do you mean _everyone is dead_?” Lines of rage carved into the woman’s features as she seized his left hand, ignoring his hiss of pain and thrust it into his face. “Explain _this_.” She said. Nemet looked at the emerald light pouring from the opening in his palm, “I…I can’t.” She threw his hands back at him, causing him to temporarily lose his balance, his damaged knees protesting. “What do you mean, you _can’t_?!” Nemet shook his head, “I don’t know how it got there-”

“You’re _lying_!” She screamed in his face, seizing him by the collar of his tunic. That was when the redhead intervened. She pulled at the woman’s arm, and spoke in soothing tones, Nemet only heard half of it, but surmised the angry shem was called Cassandra.

Nemet swayed on his abused limbs, the sudden movements had reopened his cracked lip, his head was throbbing, and a swell of nausea accompanied his vision going in and out for several moments. He felt rage bubbling in the back of throat with the sickly-sweet bile from the vomit that was dangerously close to making itself known. He sat back on his haunches as much as he could, the guards behind him shifting as he did. He bit back the bile and decided to utilize the anger. “Whatever you think I did, I’m innocent. Not that it matters much.” He added bitterly.

The redhead turned to face him, her expression neutral. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?” As she spoke, Cassandra strode back to them, having regained her composure, though her eyes still burned. Nemet lowered his head, “I remember…running. These things…were chasing me…then, a woman.” That seemed to intrigue both women, “A _woman_?” The redhead asked, “She…reached out to me…and then-”

Cassandra interrupted him, hand on the hilt of her sword. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana, I will take care of the prisoner.” Both women looked back at him, one with open disgust, the other with intrigue.  The one called Leliana walked away, leaving him alone with the guards and Cassandra, Nemet fought the urge to beg them to switch. He couldn’t help but quail as Cassandra approached him again, this time, however, she plucked a key from her pocket and removed his shackles.

She offered him a hand, eyes firmly on his, and Nemet could no longer help himself. “Just a moment ago, you were ready to kill me. Now you’re letting me out? What changed?” The corners of the woman’s mouth drooped, and she pulled him up.

Nemet’s body was not prepared for the sudden shift, and he crumbled back to the stone floor, only Cassandra’s arms kept him from landing flat on his face. He could only moan in agony as everything roared in protest of movement of any sort. Cassandra leaned forward and placed a surprisingly gentle hand on his forehead. “You’re feverish.” She pulled him to a sitting position, resting his head against the cool stone, she seemed to be looking at him for the first time. “You’re pale, you’re sweating, uneven breaths…” She prodded his right side, where one of his guards had landed the second blow after the first had sent him sprawling. He flinched at the sharp pain that accompanied the nudge, and watching the woman’s eyes fill with rage once again. This time, she directed it elsewhere. “What. Happened.” Two words. They may well have been white-hot knives thrown into a vat of butter for the damage they did as she slowly stood to stare down the guards.

One of them stood defiantly as the others shrank to half their size behind him. “The prisoner attempted to escape, Lady Cassandra. We did what we had to do to detain him.” Cassandra turned and looked at Nemet, eyes sweeping the bright red lines along his wrists and ankles where the shackles had been. “A shackled prisoner attempted to escape, and _this_ was how you elected to detain him?” Her words dripped in a fine fury. She held up a hand to cut off the soldier’s next bogus defense. She turned on her heel and strode to the door, calling to Nemet, “I will be right back.”

After what felt like years, with the guards glaring at him and the stone stabbing him with every movement, she returned with a small blue bottle. She popped the cork with her thumb and knelt in front of him, tipping it to his mouth. “Drink this.” Upon seeing his reluctance, she shook her head and sighed heavily.

“Poison is not my weapon of choice. Should you be found guilty of killing the Divine, I will run you through with my sword myself. Now drink.” Nemet opened his mouth and gulped the potion down, rubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth out of habit, the soapy aftertaste of elfroot always made him do that. He felt himself becoming warmer, stronger. The potion wouldn’t heal his wounds, but they would turn sharp pains into dull aches. Aches, Nemet could deal with.

He raised his eyes to meet Cassandra’s, “I am an elf.” She raised her dark eyebrows at that, “I am aware.” Nemet slowly went to his feet, gingerly adding weight to the appropriate limbs. He flexed his long fingers, listening to them crack. “Then you also know, that my being an elf has already found me guilty. Shemlen due-process and all that.” He quipped, waving a hand. Cassandra stared at him for a moment, before a slow and miniscule smile slid over her face. “You have a point there…”

“Nemet.” He said quietly. “Nemet.” She repeated, she gestured for him to follow, which he did. “What exactly _happened_ out there?” The smile disappeared from her face, a stoic look taking its place. “Well…Nemet. It is better if I _show_ you.” She pushed the doors open and they both stepped outside.


	2. Covered in Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nemet Lavellan has awoken to his world on fire. Physically and emotionally. He has little choice in his first few steps to ensure his survival. Old habits are dying hard while enduring the kindness of a race he has not been raised to love or even tolerate, Nemet begrudgingly accepts help where it is offered and strives to look out for number one in a place where that one is the least likely to thrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello-ooo internet! Been a while...! -nervously rubs neck- Aha...Yes. Sorry.

As the heavy doors clanged shut behind them, Nemet’s attention was immediately drawn to what he could only describe as a gaping wound in the sky. The chasm seemed to flex and twitch every so often, various shades of green swimming throughout it.

“We call it… the Breach. It is a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour,” Cassandra spoke while eyeing the glimmering emerald fireballs descend from the sky, leaving tendrils of sickly green smoke in their wake. When she finally turned to look at him, her expression was haunted. “It is not the only such rift, there are many others, this is the largest. All are caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

Nemet gazed up at the Breach, dumbfounded. “An explosion can do… that?” Cassandra approached him, “This one did. Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.” Nemet began to speak when a bolt of emerald lightning crackled throughout the Breach. As the bolts rippled through the sky, white-hot daggers shot through his arm from his shoulder to his fingertips. Nemet groaned and gripped his wrist and world swam in multicolored streams. As the pained worsened, it was all Nemet could do to cling to consciousness. Cassandra regarded the glow emanating from his palm as he collapsed to his knees, hissing in pain.

She knelt beside him, one hand waffling toward the sky, “Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads… and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.” She gestured to his hand as she spoke, Nemet’s weary eyes rested on the glowing gash in his palm. “I… I understand.”

“Then…?” Cassandra prodded.

“I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

With that, Cassandra swiftly stood and pulled him to his feet and gently pushed him forward. They made their way through the camp, as they did, Nemet felt a thousand pairs of eyes cut into him from every angle. He kept his gaze ahead, aware of the venom pouring from every gaze in his direction. A taunt sounded from farther away from them, Cassandra continued to push him forward, gripping his tunic as he skidded over a solid patch of ice.

After an uncomfortable silence between the two of them she spoke, “They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, Head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between templars and mages.”

Nemet detected a trace of sadness in Cassandra’s tone, deeper than someone who’d lost a beloved public figure. More like someone who’d lost a loved one. He kept his gaze ahead, remaining silent as she spoke. They neared the gate of the camp, littered with even more angry shems, Nemet felt regret stab at his insides. He knew there was little choice but to agree with the shem with an angry horde at her back, and even larger sword, but eyeing the enraged gazes at the gates made him start to wish he’d taken his chances.

Cassandra was still droning behind him, repeating the words spoken by this ‘Divine’ of hers, he no longer cared. He hated cold and wet his entire life, trudging through snow-covered rocks stabbing his feet with every step while being totted like an unwelcome accessory had only added to his irritability.

Cassandra recaptured his attention when she stood in front of him, “There will be a trial, I can promise nothing more. Come. It is not far.” She turned away form him, moving to cross a snow-covered bridge, peppered with shemlen guards in similar garb. He flexed his tender fingers and followed her, “Where are you taking me?”

She spoke while walking, not looking back, “Your mark must be tested against something smaller than the Breach.” He nodded, mostly to himself, and followed her.

Nemet followed Cassandra to the last gate, hesitating for a second as he made eye contact with one shemlen lovingly stroking its sword while eyeing him. “Open the gate! We are heading into the valley.” Cassandra called, the shemlen made no move to obey her, merely retained eye contact with Nemet, silently promising death at its hands. Other shems were more obedient, and the massive gates groaned as they were cranked open. “Maker be with you, Lady Cassandra!” One of them called, Nemet rolled his eyes and followed her once more, trudging angrily through the slush accumulated by the bottom of the hill they began to ascend.

As they made their way forward, Nemet fell into a defensive pose. A clutch of soliders were running toward them, snow and sleet flying in their wake. He was shocked as they pushed through him and Cassandra, and only then did he see the wounds they carried, some clutching them, others ignoring them and sprinting for all they were worth. Uniform terror painted on their pale faces as one of them screeched, “Maker! It’s the end of the world!”

Cassandra regarded them for half a second, and pressed on silently. They passed more than one wagon quietly burning, embers hissing into the snow, the sickly-sweet smell of burning flesh and the outhouse smell Nemet recognized all too well as a body that had voided its bowels after death. They were approaching another bridge when another ripple of pain seared through Nemet’s arm, sending him sprawling into the snow. Cassandra stopped and took his hand to look at it, glancing back to the Breach.

“The pulses are coming faster now. The larger the Breach grows, the more Rifts appear, and the more demons we face.” Nemet chewed on the inside of his mouth, _‘And the closer I come to death.’_ He thought angrily. They moved on once more, and another thought quipped in his head and tumbled out of his mouth without his permission. “How _did_ I survive the blast?” He found himself asking. Cassandra gave him a solemn look, “They said you… stepped out of a Rift, then fell unconscious.”

“I don’t remember the Rift, I _do_ remember falling unconscious, _that_ was your soldiers, not the magic.” He stung. Cassandra had the grace to look embarrassed. “They… were a bit…” He shook his head, “Its nothing my people wouldn’t have done in their position.” She nodded, they began to cross the bridge, a few soldiers were just a ways in front of them, running to the other side. “They say a woman was in the Rift behind you. No one knows who she was.”

Whatever sarcastic response was about to fall from Nemet’s mouth was lost as one of emerald fireballs falling from the sky fell on the bridge, landing square on the soldiers in front of them and breaking the bridge in half. The stone roared apart, the wood screamed as it splintered, their conjoined harmony of discord nearly drowned out the strangled cry from Nemet’s mouth as he and Cassandra fell to the hard, icy ground below.

Cassandra rolled to her feet, ready to fight, Nemet was content to lay in a frozen heap for a while. He lifted his head and watched in shock, as another fireball poured from the sky and landed a few hundred feet from them. “ _Fenedhis!”_ He spat, as a cloaked demon sprang from the ground, talons extended. Cassandra charged the demon, throwing her enormous shield into it, knocking it off center before slashing at it with her sword. “Stay behind me!” She called, as the demon regained its footing and slashed at her, she lithely dodged it, surprisingly light on her armored feet for a shemlen.

Nemet slowly pulled himself to his feet, the warmth and tender mercy of the elfroot potion long gone. He clutched at his aching ribs as he heard a hiss from behind him. He spun around and watched as the icy ground ran black, coming to a literal boil. The tar-like substance ran green, and a grey hand clutched the ice, pulling yet another demon forth. Its discolored eyes fell on him, and it began to advance upon him with a sickly grace.

Nemet spared a glance over his shoulder, and saw Cassandra still facing off with the first demon. He threw himself out of the way of the demon’s long reaching swipe, talons coming inches within his face. He landed hard on the ground, and Nemet had a moment to wonder how much abuse his body would take before it simply gave out on him. He raised his head a spied a staff, clutched in the hand of a dead shemlen mage.

After a quick prayer to Mythal, Nemet dove for the staff, ripping it from the corpse’s grip, he spun and allowed his magic in.


	3. Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temporary alliances have been drawn, differences have been momentarily put aside, and the most unlikely of people are joining up with Nemet and Cassandra to kill the demons slaughtering soldiers and wrecking havoc. Enter Varric and Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a roll, lez keep it goin
> 
>  
> 
> :D

_‘Focus, Nemet! This is a different type of magic, you_ have _to be careful with it!’_

_‘I’m_ trying _, Pa-Keeper Braron. But I can’t focus when you keep-‘_

_‘Do yourself a favor and don’t finish that sentence, child.’_

_‘Yes sir.’_

_Nemet closed his eyes and extended his hand, he retreated to a quiet place and envisioned a tiny flame in a jar. Safe and contained. When he opened his eyes, he was shocked to see a brilliant flame in his palm, flickering as if it were sitting a hearth._

_‘Good boy! Very well done! Fire magic will be your dominant practice, now that we know it comes natural to you, we can begin to focus on the other elements.’ His father paced a tense circle around him, Nemet kept his gaze on the flame in his hand, watching it crackle merrily. ‘Fire is my what?’_

_Braron stood in front of him, ‘You remember when you were younger, and your sister convinced you that you weren’t our child because of your eye color?’_

_Nemet grimaced at the mention of his sister and nodded. ‘Mages have many magicks, yes, but there will always be a dominant, one that comes the easiest to them, one that is natural. The use of this magic can have an affect on your physical appearance.’_

_He tapped Nemet’s dark brows, ‘You are our child, have no fear, but you have something no one in our family or clan does._ Fire magic. _’_

* * *

 

Nemet let the energy resonating within his body to pour through the focus of the staff. He gritted his teeth in frustration as the magic stumbled slightly through the unfamiliar focus, but found its mark as a fireball collided with it. The demon shrieked and writhed as its ragged and brittle body writhed in the flames.

As it fell, Nemet spun around, only to come face-to-face with Cassandra, who’s face was twisted in distrust. “Drop the staff. Now.” She ordered, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. Nemet recognized what stood behind those proud brown eyes; fear. Fire had a habit of doing that, people with the ability to manipulate it had an even greater effect.

Nemet stood, lowering the staff to his side, but refused to drop it. “You do realize that I don’t _need_ a staff to kill you?” To his surprise, a tiny smile curled the end of Cassandra’s mouth as she straightened. “I suppose you’re right. I can’t expect you to go forward without being able to defend yourself.” She sheathed her sword and turned to the path ahead. “I should remember you agreed to come willingly.” Nemet shrugged, “Didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” Cassandra gave a dry chuckle and moved up the path, “I suppose not.”

They continued up a ways, stopping when confronted by a few more of the demons, when Nemet heard clear signs of fighting. “We’re getting closer to the Rift!” Cassandra called over her shoulder.  Nemet huffed in response, his breath coming out in short puffs of air in front of him. His body was screaming in protest of his activity, he’d taken another elfroot potion from some dead soldiers, but it had done little to soothe the monumental pain he was pushing his body through.

They crested the hill, and Nemet noticed a group of soldiers and two individuals that were clearly…not. A bald elf with pinched features and thin lips was waving his staff methodically, freezing demons in place so the surrounding soldiers could easily shatter them. A dwarf hefting an enormous crossbow with short blond hair was dodging attacks left and right, leaving only bolts in his place and he leapt.

Cassandra charged forward, shield aloft. “We must help them!” Nemet mocked her under his breath pulled the staff his its holster in his tunic. He opened the metaphoric floodgates of his magic and conjured a circle of fire around a clutch of demons, the air wrenched with their unholy cries as they burned, and the soldiers fighting them swung around to find their savior.

Nemet didn’t stop to make conversation, he spun on the spot and sent a fireball at another demon approaching the bald elf from behind, its arms flailed from their position above its head, frozen in place by the flames that quickly consumed it.

In no time at all, the demons were gone. Nemet stood, feeling almost thoroughly drained when the elf grabbed his marked hand and pulled him to the Rift. It was taller than he, though as he was shorter than most Dalish women, that wasn’t saying much. It was in every way like its namesake, a _Rift_ in the air, a jagged cut out of nowhere, emerald light and unholy screeches pouring from it. “Quickly! Before more come through!” The elf pulled his hand toward the Rift, and for a split second, Nemet thought he was going to _throw_ him through it.

Instead, the elf spread his hand and faced his palm to the Rift. Not a second later, pain raced through his arm, and emerald bolts shot form his hand into it, there was a moment when Nemet felt something pushing back, as if it wanted to get out before the Rift shut, but he shut his eyes, and willed the Rift to close… and it did.

The Rift shut with a _crack_ , throwing his hand back, nearly knocking him over. He grabbed his arm and studied his hand, no longer glowing, but he knew better than to think the mark was gone, he could still feel the energy dancing just below the surface. He heard the soldiers milling about, giving and receiving orders, but tuned them out as he stood to face the elf. “What did you just do?” The elf was brimming with what seemed to be excitement. “ _I_ did nothing. The credit is all yours.” He gestured to his hand. Nemet followed his gaze back to his hand, flexing his fingers, “ _I_ did that? How?”

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct.” Cassandra was listening intently, eyes wide, “Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.”

“Possibly.” The elf said, folding his arms in front of his lithe body. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Good to know!” A gruff voice called from behind them. Nemet turned to see the dwarf tugging on of his gloves, an easy smile on his face. He had the strangest garb Nemet had ever seen, a ruby red shirt with faded white embroidery around the collar, that hung open enough for the mounds of glimmering golden chest hair on the dwarf’s body to shine proudly in the light, accentuated by a think gold chain that held a simple brass ring in the middle. His coat was older looking, a dull grey with dark grey undertones hung open, flapping in the wind around him. His dark pants were tucked into sturdy boots, which thundered like horse hooves as he approached them like old friends. “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever!”

He came to stand in front of Nemet, hand extended, smile still in place. “Varric Tethras. Rouge, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tagalong.” The las bit was said with a wink in Cassandra’s direction, which earned a scoff in reply. Nemet couldn’t dislike the dwarf right off the bat, something about him seemed genuine. As much as he wanted to poke holes or attempt to bend the dwarf’s patience, Nemet couldn’t bring himself to do so at the moment. “Good to meet you, Varric.”

“You may reconsider that stance, in time.” The elf said with a chuckle. “Aww, I’m sure we’ll become great friends in valley, Chuckles.” Varric retorted.

Cassandra immediately started forward, “Absolutely not,” started, indignantly.  “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but-”

“Have you _been_ in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.” He said the last with a particularly cheerful grin on his face.

Cassandra seemed to swell up like a bull frog before deflating and walking away from him with a disgusted sigh of defeat.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.” The elf said happily beside him. “He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’” Varric said. Nemet turned to look at him, before bowing his head at his very sore neck. “Then I owe you my thanks.” He quipped formally. Solas gave a slow smile, “Thank me if we manage to close the Breach without killing you in the process.”

* * *

 

After administering potions, and particularly helpful spell from Solas that took his pain from the near blinding stabbing with every move, to a sort of twinge, they were ready to press on. “I wouldn’t over exert yourself, Lavellan.” Solas advised, “Just because the pain is gone, doesn’t mean the symptoms do not remain.” Nemet rubbed his ribs absently and followed them through a narrow path, closer to the forward camp.

He was impressed by the chemistry of their little group, he, Solas, and Varric rained fire, electricity, and bolts from the skies as Cassandra plowed through demon after demon without fear. While they travelled, Varric had asked a few polite questions about his heritage. Nemet divulged common knowledge and nothing else.

They approached what felt like the hundredth set of broken steps and yet another frigid hill, when Nemet’s hand illuminated the surrounding walls and stone in green. He hissed in pain, determined to ignore it and push on, nodding gruffly when Varric asked after his wellbeing.

They reached the gate to the forward camp, when the increasingly familiar shriek of a demon sounded down the hill to them. “Another Rift!” Cassandra shouted, wrenching her sword and shield from her back and running ahead. “We must seal it!” Solas cried, pulling out his staff. “You mean _I_ must seal it.” Nemet murmured to himself, running with them. This time, there was a different demon staring down the terrified soldiers. This one was nearly gray, standing on two legs nearly as long as its arms, each limb had spikes protruding from them, as well a forked tail whipping behind it. “Mythal’s _tits_.” He hissed, and leapt out of the way of the tail. When he landed, Nemet looked around, confused. The demon was gone. A cry came from across the field, he looked up and saw a green puddle appearing at the feet of a petrified soldier, his sword hanging uselessly in his hands. Nemet swore under his breath and leapt at the shemlen, shoving him aside as the demon appeared from the ground and fell under the blows of the surrounding attacks.

Nemet pushed himself to his feet, reaching a hand to close the Rift yet again, but nearly toppled over as the shem grabbed his arm and clung for all he was worth. Nemet swung around, ready to kick the man off, when the Rift roared, and yet another demon fell through. He spun and knelt in front of the soldier, grabbing him by his shoulders. “What is your name?” He yelled over the din, “H-Hector!”

“Listen to me, Hector! You see this mark on my hand?”

Hector nodded, turning green.

“Well _this_ is what is going to close _that_!” He shouted, pointing at the Rift.

“And I can’t close _that_ , if you are going to be doing…THIS!” He gestured to the shem’s death grip on his arm.

“Y-You can _close_ those?!”

“That’s kind of my job, Hector! Now get up, grab your sword, and do _yours_ , okay?”

The soldier scrambled to his feet, sweat pouring from his young face. He grabbed up his sword and charged the nearest demon, hacking at it with reckless abandon. Nemet stared at him for a moment, before shaking his head and aiming the mark for the Rift yet again.

“The Rift is gone! Open the gate!”

“Right away, Lady Cassandra!”

“We are clear for the moment, well done.” Solas patted him on the back, concern laced his pinched features as he took in Nemet’s state.

“Are you-?” Nemet waved hand, passing it off as a moment to catch his breath. Desperately trying to hide how hard he was struggling to breathe, or even remain upright. His Pilgrimage had taken him to near skin and bone, testing his limits, he could handle this. Or at least, that was what he was telling himself.


	4. Circular Agruments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of the introduction into the game, y'know, you never realize how much verbal filler is in a game until you have to type it all. Good golly, gosh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Roderick.

They made their way to yet another bridge, something that made Nemet a bit nervous. Given the last few bridges they’d attempted to cross. His worries were cast aside as a loud voice cut through the hubbub of the wounded soldiers rejoining their comrades.

“We _must_ prepare the soldiers!”

“We will do no such thing!”

“The prisoner must get to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It is our only chance!”

“ _You_ have already caused enough trouble without resorting to this exercise in futility.”

“… _I_ have caused trouble?”

“You, Cassandra, Most Holy, - Haven’t you all done enough already?”

“You’re not in command here!”

“Enough! I will not have it!”

The heated argument seemed to be between the shem from earlier, who’s name Nemet couldn’t place. Her formerly peaceful expression was hard with anger and frustration; the cause was a shem with strange clothes that covered most of his head and ears. His small watery brown eyes sat beneath wiry brows that dominated his angular forehead. His broad nose was red at the tip, from the cold, Nemet assumed. He slammed his large hands on the table in front of them as he stood, self-righteous anger falling from him in waves. Nemet wrinkled his nose at the smell of mildew that clung to him.

“Ah! Here they come!”

The redheaded shem approached them, relief naked on her face, “You made it! Chancellor Roderick, this is-”

“I _know_ who he is.” He looked down his meaty nose at Nemet, his face a mask of disgust. He shoved a thick finger in his face, “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I _order_ you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution!” Rage boiled in Nemet’s stomach. A trial, right. He gripped his staff, but was caught off guard when Cassandra retorted. “Order _me_?! You’re a glorified clerk!” She strode forward, shoving _her_ finger in _his_ face. “A bureaucrat!”

“And _you_ are a thug! But a thug who _supposedly_ works for the Chantry!”

“We serve the _Most Holy_ , Chancellor, as you well know.” The redhead cut in.

“Justinia is _dead_! We must elect a replacement, and obey _her_ orders on the matter!”

Shemlens and fucking shemlen politics. “Isn’t closing the Breach the more pressing issue?” Nemet interjected. The circular arguing was beginning to make his head hurt. Roderick rounded on him in an instant. “ _You_ brought this on us in the first place!” He screeched, sounding eerily not unlike the demons they’d just killed. Cassandra advanced menacingly, Roderick continued, unphased. “Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”

Cassandra shook her head, and Nemet had to give the woman credit for having such patience with the man. “We can stop this before its too late.” She said, causing the other shem to throw his hands in anger. “How? You won’t survive long enough to reach the temple, even with all of your soldiers.” Cassandra stood firm, “We must get to the temple. It’s the quickest route.”

“But not the safest.” The redhead again, Nemet had honestly forgotten that she was still there with them. As she mapped out ulterior routes for them to take, Nemet found himself staring at her. How did she manage it? Shrink away in a group until no one noticed her there? But then, he couldn’t simply assume everyone else had forgotten, if he were to say anything about it, what would they think of him then?

Nemet was so lost in thought, he didn’t realize everyone was looking at him until Varric tapped his arm. He startled and looked around, “We’ll go through the mountains.” Roderick was aghast, but everyone with weapons had started to move, so what he had to say on the matter no longer mattered. Although his parting, “The consequences be on _your_ head, Seeker.” Visibly stung Cassandra.

* * *

 

Freezing winds whipped Nemet’s thin coat around his body, hissing at him as he hissed right back at it. He longer for warmer climes, though at this point, at the rate things were going, he would be happy to simply be alive this time tomorrow.

Their reluctant party climbed the ladders, listening to Cassandra explain how many troops were sent to the cave they were to be trekking through shortly, and when they lost contact with them. Varric had sounded his opinion loudly and several times, Cassandra had managed to _accidentally_ tread on his fingers each time, Solas had remained mostly quiet. When he reached the top of the ladder, Nemet leaned against the side of the mountain to catch his breath as the rest climbed up. What was wrong with him? Cold air could steal one’s breath, yes, but nothing like this?

He quickly straightened as the rest of them approached, shrugging away concerned remarks. “Seriously, Fizzy, if you need a break, I’d be happy to carry you.” Varric chirped, Nemet blanched at the thought, but stumbled at the nickname. “I-Wait, what?”

The dwarf shrugged as they all withdrew their weapons as a demon near the entrance had spotted them and began to approach. “When you do that thing with the fire, it makes a kind of…fizzing sound. So… yeah. Fizzy.” Nemet choked back a laugh, “Okay… Thanks… I think.” Solas chuckled from behind him, setting a barrier over Cassandra as she lunged for another demon, “You get used to it, believe me. He won’t stop.”

They fought their way through several painfully cold layers of frozen cave and managed to find the other side. Steep icy steps descended, the echoing cries of demons and shems bounced on the mountain walls to them. Without another word of thought, they raced down hill, Cassandra being the only one to skid a few times, although the look on her face kept anyone from laughing at her expense.

As they reached the summit, Nemet saw several soldiers desperately fighting off waves of demons pouring from yet another Rift. Nemet swore under his breath and set a barrier over everyone in the middle of the fight, leaving covering his group to Solas. They worked together, once more, He, Solas, and Varric raining from above, as the warriors made much faster work of the demons. Once the last had fallen, and the Rift had taken on an interesting shade of green, Nemet leapt forward and closed it with a loud crack.

He surveyed his now normal looking hand as Solas approached him, “Sealed. As before. You are becoming quite proficient at this.”

Varric strolled up to join them, casually kicking a demon corpse out of the way, “Let’s hope it works on the big one.”

Cassandra helped one of the injured soldiers to her feet, she clutched her side with one hand, Cassandra’s arm with the other. Nemet could only see her eyes through the strange helmet, they were a nice shade of blue, but there was far too much white, like a spooked horse ready to bolt. “Thank the Maker you finally arrived, Lady Cassandra.”

Nemet clicked his teeth irritably at that. 'Yes, yes, thank the _Maker_ for _Lady Cassandra_.' He thought bitterly, folding his arms. “I don’t think we could’ve held out much longer,” she whispered.

Cassandra shocked him by turning her to face him. “Thank our prisoner, Lieutenant. He insisted we come this way.” The soldier startled, looking from Cassandra to Nemet. “Th-The prisoner? Then you…?” Nemet waved a hand, “It was worth saving you… If we could.” She drew herself to her full height, pounding a fist on her chest. “Then you have my sincere gratitude.”

Nemet had a moment to wonder what in the world the mad shem was doing before he realized, she was _saluting_ him. Cassandra saved him from having to speak and embarrass himself.

“The way into the valley behind us should be clear for the moment. Go, while you still can.” The lieutenant nodded and directed what was left of her soldiers back the way Nemet and his party had come.

“The path ahead appears to be clear of demons as well.” Solas said, eyeing the rough terrain ahead of them. At Cassandra’s behest, they moved ahead.

* * *

 

The Temple of Sacred Ashes was… just that. Mummified bodies either knelt or lay where they died, some spots of the ground surrounding them were still on fire. The conversations about red lyrium droned behind him, Nemet didn’t pay attention to any of it. It was all he could do to stay upright. The air was close and reeked of sulfur and other things, and every breath was a painful stab in his side, robbing him of what little air he had.

They rounded a corner and Nemet was confronted with what had to be the largest Rift he’d seen so far, but it looked…different. They made their way around the outskirts, but were rocked when a deep male voice permeated from nowhere, and bounced off the jagged walls, amplifying it dramatically. It wasn’t until a weaker female voice came through…as well as his own…did Cassandra begin to panic.

“Th-That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you. But…” She was cut off by the Rift shifting within itself and unveiling a gruesome scene. A distorted shadowed visage appeared above them, an older woman was suspended in midair in front it. Red tendrils of pure energy kept her in place, fear rode her frail body and her voice trembled as she called out in desperation.

Nemet couldn’t help but feel a pit in his stomach, she sounded so broken. He was thoroughly shocked when he saw himself running out of nowhere. “What’s going on here?” He heard himself demand. “Run while you can!” The woman screamed to him, “Warn them!”

The shade spoke again, his voice like sand in his ears, “We have an intruder. Slay the elf.” It said, pointing what Nemet assumed was a finger at him. A bright flash destroyed the scene, Cassandra wasted no time rounding on him.

“You _were_ there! Who attacked?! And the Divine, is she…?” She stormed up to him, grabbing the front of Nemet’s tunic, “Was this vision true? What are we seeing?!” Nemet dug his hands into hers and ripped them from his tunic.

“I’m going to say this one more time, since you seem to be so hard of hearing: I. Don’t. Remember!”

The Rift shifted loudly, pulling their attention back to the problem at hand. Solas moved closer to survey it, surmising, Nemet would need to open it once again to seal it properly. “Of course…” Nemet spat.

“What?” Cassandra turned, and Nemet shook his head, raising his eyes and hand to the Rift.

In no time at all, a _massive_ demon had pulled itself free of the Rift. With a start, Nemet recognized its energy. Earlier that day, he’d felt the presence of an entity that wanted in their world and out of the Fade. He’d been able to close the smaller Rift it had tried to cross through with minor difficulty, seeing the demon before him now, deflecting armors and brandishing what appeared to be whip of _lightning_ , he wasn’t quite sure how he felt.

The warm aura of a barrier slid over him, coating him in protective magic. He nodded his thanks to Solas, and immediately set about disrupting the Rift. He could nearly see the energy pouring from it and into the demon.

When the connection was shut, the demon stumbled, and the soldiers descended upon it for all they were worth. Nemet knelt, content to let the shems take care of the rest, when he felt the Rift open once more.

He raised his head and stretched his awareness, this demon was not going to leave without a fight. It maintained a small connection to the Fade, and was continuing to siphon energy. He could feel it powering up for another attack, and had just enough time to scream a warning to the attacking troops. Cassandra followed his line of vision and ordered everyone away. The last soldier was a suitable distance away before electricity flared around the demon. It gathered its strength and rose once more, ready to fight with its shield in place.

Nemet looked at the demon, then back to the Rift, and realized he would have to keep doing this until the shems were finally able to kill it. He forced air into abused body, dug in his feet, and hit the Rift again.

After what felt like centuries, with elfroot residue caking the roof of his mouth, not so happily coinciding with the lyrium potion’s bitter tang resonating in the corners, Nemet clung to his borrowed staff to steady himself as the demon fell, shaking the earth. The shems gave a victorious roar, and Cassandra turned to him, mouthing, _“Do it._ ” He nodded, only because he had no energy within him left to be spiteful.

He raised his marked hand to the Rift, and put everything he had into sealing it. Pain coursed throughout every orifice, to fast and hard for him to do more than grunt. With an earth-shattering _crack_ , the massive Rift was sealed, shooting back up to the Breach, which began to shift and dance within itself once again. Nemet’s arm fell limp at his side, he raised his head to see what would happen, but suddenly realized he was leaning back too far, and had no way of stopping it.

His grip on his consciousness, like his staff, fell. As did he.

* * *

 

“This…This is the one that closed the Rifts? But he’s so…”

“Small! Look at him, he’s hardly bigger than me, and that’s _saying_ something, Curly.”

Nemet couldn’t move, but he was painfully aware of two things: he was _very_ badly injured, and he was being _carried_. Like a _maiden_.

“Be gentle, Adan says one of his ribs punctured his lung.”

“How can that be?”

“I intend to find out. Round up all of the soldiers responsible for watching over him when he first arrived.”

Nemet fell asleep for a while longer, when he came to, it was out of sheer pain. A strangled cry erupted from his throat, which burned and made his stomach ache, which set off a chain reaction of different pains all over. He barely heard a gruff voice over the panicked ones that had started with his first flail.

“Andraste’s _ASS_ , can’t you do _anything_ right?! Move, girl! I’ll do it!” A sharp pain in his right arm sent a pleasant numbness throughout his whole body. If that was death, Nemet happily welcomed it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So...
> 
> How did I do?


End file.
